


All That Glitters

by TheDVirus



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bargaining, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Fruit, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Nygmobblepot, Pirates, Prisoner of War, Sailing, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 22:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17313170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDVirus/pseuds/TheDVirus
Summary: Nygmobblepot Pirate AUWhen Edward Nygma is captured by the ruthless pirate Captain Oswald Cobblepot, he is taken as a bed warmer by the Captain in exchange for his life. The line between business and pleasure is a hazy one and not all treasure is silver and gold.





	1. Parley

‘Bring up the last one!’

Edward blinked hard, eyes bleary, as the blindfold was yanked off. Despite his disorientation, he had just enough time to see one of his shipmates flung unceremoniously overboard. A moment later, his head followed.  
Edward looked around, trying to keep calm even as the stench of gunpowder caught in his throat. The deck was a mess. The enemy pirates were busy disposing of the corpses that littered the deck: throwing them overboard after stripping them bare. The main mast was leaning dangerously to the left, the sail tattered and smouldering. There was little trace of the proud naval vessel she had once been and less trace of the dozens of people who had once crewed her. 

The pirate Captain Oswald Cobblepot stood in front of Edward. He was smaller than Edward had expected him to be but an impressive hat decorated with a large black and white feather added a few inches to his height. Or perhaps the strength of his reputation simply made it seem so. His green eyes reflected the flames of the ruined ship, making them gleam golden as he surveyed Edward from on high. His black clothes and pale skin (a rarity for those who made their living on the waves) gave him the appearance of a devil come to claim lost souls.

‘Now, you’re not going to be stupid like your shipmates are you?’ the Captain asked in a surprisingly soft, cultured voice, ‘I assumed one of them would have learnt their lesson once a few examples had been made but apparently not’.

‘What do you want?’ Edward asked, surprised at the steadiness of his own voice.

‘The chest of course. The one this ship is transporting to Gotham’.

‘It’s in there’, Edward said obligingly, gesturing to a nearby barrel, ‘Untie me and I’ll show you’.

‘How very kind of you’, the Captain said, slicing Edward’s bound hands with a slim dagger.

Edward rose to his feet and led the way, the Captain following close behind.  
As soon as the Captain was in such a position that he was unwittingly acting as a shield against any attack from his followers, Edward spun on his heel, pulled out his pistol and pointed it at the Captain’s chest.  
The Captain simply raised an eyebrow and his utter lack of fear made Ed bristle. Angry that destiny and his father’s disdain seemed to have conspired to bring his life to such an abrupt, underwhelming end, Edward pulled the trigger in sheer defiance.  
Nothing happened. Save for the ball falling from the barrel, hitting the deck and rolling for a few ignoble inches before coming to a dead stop.  
Edward had a second to gawk before he was struck hard across the face. He tasted iron in his mouth as he fell to the deck. The pistol fell from his hand and was unceremoniously kicked overboard by the Captain. He staggered slightly and held onto the rail to steady himself before shaking his head at Edward in mock disappointment. 

‘That’s naval discipline for you’, he said after a few disapproving clicks of his tongue, ‘Kill him’.

A large brute of a pirate yanked Edward to his knees and he gagged as he felt the cold edge of a blade beneath his Adam’s apple. He saw the Captain running his fingers through the plethora of gold coins in the retrieved chest and in an instant he had seized on a much superior idea to his previous one.

‘Stop!’ Edward shouted, ‘Please! I’m worth more to you alive!’

The Captain paused and glanced over his shoulder, an intrigued glint in his eye. The pirate holding Edward eased his blade’s pressure on his throat, sensing his Captain’s interest.

‘A bold claim’, the Captain mused, ‘Why is that?’

Edward reached slowly into his jacket, aware of the numerous pistols trained on him. He located the hidden pocket and threw an earring onto the deck. The eyes of every pirate was drawn to the gold glinting in the firelight and the large diamond set into it cast rainbow lights onto the wooden surface. Even the Captain’s eyes widened at the trinket.  
Edward, emboldened by the pirates’ pistols lowering distractedly, cleared his throat and spoke with as much authority as he could muster.

‘Because I’m Edward Nygma, Admiral Edward Nashton’s son. And there’s far more where that came from’.

**

‘You clean up nicely’, the Captain said appreciatively.

Edward, self-conscious of the Captain’s attention, adjusted the green dinner jacket he had been given to wear to the meeting. The door to the Captain’s cabin closed behind him, leaving him alone with his captor.  
The Captain sat at one end of a long table covered with various delicious looking dishes. The cabin was full of rich silks, trophies and chests of valuables. A stark contrast to the utilitarian surroundings of the ship Edward had been sailing on, now scuppered and resting at the bottom of the ocean on Captain Cobblepot’s orders.

‘A genuine diamond in the rough’, the Captain continued, politely ignoring Edward’s vocal, desirous stomach, ‘Please, help yourself’.

Edward sat at the table obediently and began to fill his plate. He wasn’t too proud to refuse a free meal. Especially after weeks of hard tack and scraps of meat so tough it could have been used to re-sole boots. The thought momentarily occurred to him that it might be poisoned but, seeing the Captain rip eagerly into a chicken leg, Edward discounted the fear.  
They ate in silence for a while. Edward ate his fill, maintaining a stoic façade despite how wonderful everything tasted. He wondered if it tasted so good because he was so grateful to be alive or if pirates ate this well all the time. If the latter was true, Edward could understand why some men decided to desert. Despite the rapturous feeling of a full stomach however, something still nagged at him.

‘How did you know my pistol wouldn’t work?’ he asked.

‘I didn’t’, the Captain said, popping a red grape into his mouth, ‘I saw your hands’.

‘My hands?’

The Captain smiled as Edward subconsciously hid his hands beneath the table, no doubt fearful they would telegraph further weakness.

‘Call it an educated guess’, the Captain said, licking a dollop of cream from a long finger, ‘Your hands are too smooth for an experienced sailor so I assumed you had never fired a pistol either’.

Edward took a moment to study the Captain’s hands as he poured them both a fresh glass of wine. Even from a distance he could see the skin was weathered and calloused despite the paleness of the Captain’s skin.

‘What if you had been wrong?’ Edward asked, baffled by the Captain’s lackadaisical attitude.

‘Then my crew would have had to find a new Captain’, the Captain shrugged, ‘As you can guess, I’ve never been wrong. Now, I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve bothered ordering a prisoner to be bathed and fed?’

‘Your crew may be but I’m not’, Edward said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, ‘You’re doing it because I’m an investment. To make sure I look nice and healthy to get the best price from my father. I suppose that’s why you’re the Captain’.

The Captain smiled at the flattery and touched Edward’s earring dangling from his right ear, making it glint in the candlelight. 

‘This is a valuable earring. Superb craftsmanship’.

‘You’re welcome to it’, Edward said graciously, It’s a family heirloom but I brought it as a funeral fund just in case’.

‘It would be a fancy funeral too. Blue blood and an utter lack of skill with a firearm. I know the navy doesn’t recruit people for their brains but how did you ever pass as a crewman?’

Edward blinked hard as unpleasant memories swam to the surface of his mind. Officers barking orders, whipping men so hard blood spattered onto the deck, skin peeling from heat and the stink of sweat, vomit and excrement in the dark depths of the lower decks. 

‘Mostly by keeping my head down and mouth shut’, he said.

‘It was a good thing you spoke up when you did. The question is; are you worth the trouble? Why should I risk entering lawful waters on something a stranger tells me? For all I know you’re just an unusually smart crewman who stole an earring and is chancing his arm on a bluff. Perhaps I should play it safe by offering some of the isolated tribes in the area some variety on their menus instead?’

‘You don’t really mean that’.

‘Oh really?’

‘No. I’ve heard the stories about you’.

The Captain rolled his eyes.

‘Let me guess: my mother was a sea witch, I have webbed feet, brine instead of blood and a shard of ice in place of a heart?’

‘No. That you’re a man of honour. You spare women and children and always keep your promises once a bargain is struck. That’s rare even amongst the law abiding. My father would have a use for such a man. Especially one who saved his heir’s life. Why stop at a one off reward? What about a commission? Licence to pillage and plunder in the name of the crown. No more outrunning the hangman’s noose or negotiations going South with cannibals’. 

The Captain thought for a long moment. Edward watched his eyes dart back and forth as if mentally balancing a pair of scales. Eventually the Captain spoke.

‘Tempting’, the Captain said, eyes glittering in a way that made Edward’s stomach squirm, ‘But I need more assurances’.

‘What else can I give you?’ Edward asked with trepidation.

‘In exchange for my protection and mercy, you’ll act as my bed warmer as long as you’re aboard this ship’.

‘What?’ Edward deadpanned, all emotion knocked out of him to make room for sheer shock at the Captain’s request.

‘If you’ve heard any stories about me you will also know that I like leverage. Especially against powerful admirals who could string me up should the wind change. Do we have an accord?’

Edward swallowed hard but didn’t move. The Captain’s extended hand had all the inviting appeal of a shark’s fin rising above the water. Could he do this? He had never kissed a woman, never mind pleasured a man! He knew how to (in theory) but, could he? The Captain had been civil up until now but he was still a pirate. Who knew what vulgar, violent appetites he had?!

The Captain, amused at Edward’s hesitation, lowered his head in mock resignation.

‘Such a shame’, he grinned, withdrawing his hand, ‘Oh well! I’m sure my crew will show you every hospitality-‘

The words died in his throat as his fingers were suddenly seized in a strong grip. Both of Edward’s hands were clasped around it and shook it thrice.

‘Thank you for your generosity’, Edward quipped, amused by the shocked look on the Captain’s face despite what he had just agreed.  
Not willing to concede the advantage he had just gained and sensing the Captain’s confusion, Edward began to unbutton his shirt.

‘Wait a minute!’ the Captain cried, cheeks reddening.

‘Oh!’ Ed smirked, ‘Maybe you would like me to undress you first?’

‘Now just hang on!’ the Captain snapped, waving a flustered hand at Edward’s seeking fingers, ‘I didn’t mean-‘

‘If you’ve changed your mind that’s your decision but we’ve made an agreement’, Edward said calmly, fixing eyes with the Captain in challenge, ‘Whether you make use of me or not’.

The Captain made a noise almost akin to a growl, unbuckled his sword and slammed it on the table. 

‘Get into bed’, he commanded, ‘Now’. 

**

‘Settle down will you?’ the Captain said, giving Edward a painless kick in warning.

‘Sorry’, Edward said, making a conscious effort to keep still, ‘It’s been weeks since I’ve been in a bed. Especially one as big and comfortable as this’.

‘I thought a gentleman would be used to finer sheets than this’.

‘Do you have the bed because of your leg?’ Edward asked, recalling how the Captain had needed to adjust his balance earlier that day.

‘There’s nothing wrong with my leg’, the Captain said, too quickly to make the statement ring casual or true.

‘No, of course not’, Edward backtracked, ‘Sorry if I offended-‘

‘Why do you use a different name from your father?’ the Captain interjected, ‘And why were you bunking with the dregs?’

‘It’s simple really. My father wanted me to succeed in the navy without any special treatment provided by the family name’.

‘Even if it involved eating weevil infested biscuits and flogging?’ the Captain asked sceptically.

‘My father’s a hard man to impress. You know how it is’.

‘My father was lost at sea years ago’.

‘I’m sorry. Again’.

‘Don’t be’, the Captain said reflectively, ‘My mother says that the sea was “in his blood”. Just like mine’.

‘Isn’t your mother worried you might end up the same way?’

‘She knows she can’t deny fate. I visit her when I can and make sure she doesn’t want for anything’.

‘Do you believe in fate?’

‘Do you?’

‘I’m actually more interested in if krakens are real’. 

‘I beg your pardon?’ the Captain asked, brow furrowing. 

‘Krakens’, Edward said, waving his fingers to mimic searching tentacles, ‘Giant squids that can eat ships’.

‘I know what a kraken is’.

‘Well? Are they real?’ Edward asked, ‘It didn’t seem appropriate to ask the naval officers’.

The Captain eyed Edward, unsure if he was joking or not. After only a second of searching Edward’s eager face, he decided on the latter.

‘I-I don’t know. I’ve never seen one’, the Captain said pensively, ‘Then again, I’ve heard some of my crew say they’ve seen mermaids’.

‘Those are real, in a manner of speaking’.

‘A manner of speaking?’

‘They probably thought they were seeing mermaids but it’s far more likely they’ve seen dugongs’.

‘What are those?’

‘Large marine animals that lounge on rocks’.

‘Like seals?’

‘More like seals than big busted women that’s for sure’, Edward laughed, ‘Apparently, they look a lot like mermaids when you’re blind drunk and squinting through mist’.

The Captain laughed which startled Edward. He had only heard the Captain laugh at the expense of others. This was an altogether more pleasant sound.

‘Or if you’ve been at sea for a bit and are desperate to ogle a woman’, the Captain chuckled, ‘No matter what she looks like’.

‘Do you have one?’

‘A dugong?’

‘A wife. Do pirates have wives or just pleasure women?’

The Captain’s smile faded.

‘Some do. I have neither. Bad luck on a ship’.

‘I thought the bad luck thing was just an excuse to enable sailors ignore societal niceties women insist on. Like bathing’, Edward said lightheartedly, keen to continue ingratiating himself.

His gamble earned him a sardonic smile.

‘If you’re as smart as I’m beginning to think you are, you’d better get used to it’.

The Captain slipped down and pulled the blanket around himself, exhaling deeply as his eyes closed.

‘So…We’re really not going to-‘ Edward began but the Captain made an impatient noise.

‘You misunderstood our agreement earlier’, the Captain said without turning around, ‘When I said a ‘bed warmer’, I meant it literally. It-it gets chilly at night’.

‘Oh. Alright’, Edward shrugged offhandedly, hiding his relief.

But, as he settled down, he felt a strange pull. A desire to do something to hold up his end of the agreement. Some token of good faith.

‘Should-should I come closer then?’

This time, the Captain did turn around, naked surprise on his face at Edward’s offer. 

‘I suppose’, he said, turning back around, ‘If you must’.

Edward moved over and settled in so the Captain’s back was flush against his chest. He was about to place a hand on his hip but decided against it. 

‘Goodnight Captain’.

The Captain, grateful that Edward couldn’t see his freshly flushing cheeks, took deep breaths, trying to slow his heartrate. Edward was much taller than he seemed and fitted snugly around him. His breath was tickling the back of his neck, somehow making warmth suffuse his whole body. It was an odd feeling of vulnerability that was surprisingly pleasant. He had never shared a bed with anyone before. And it had been a very long time since someone had said something as beautifully simple and sincere as ‘goodnight’ to him.  
The Captain decided such a gesture merited a response.

‘When we’re alone, Oswald will be fine’, Oswald said, ‘We’re beyond formalities I think, don’t you, Ed?’

Edward mouthed his new nickname silently and delightedly. The Captain had no idea how much it meant to have something else to separate him from his father. Edward wasn’t about to tell him either, not at this early stage of whatever game they were playing. But he did hope that they would be able to play a little longer.

‘Goodnight Oswald’.


	2. Paradise

Oswald felt something hard jab into his back and was awake in an instant.  
It had to be a pistol! But who could have snuck into his cabin without him hearing?! Or climbed into his bed behind…His suspicions melted away as he noticed Ed’s long arms wrapped around him. And realised what the pressure against his back actually was. Oswald froze.  
They had been sharing a bed for a week now but this was the first time this had happened. Ed often drifted over onto Oswald’s side but he had never embraced him before. Not even when he had nightmares nearly every night. To try and ensure they both had a night’s sleep, Oswald had even started to hold Ed’s hand on occasion. Had Ed actually been awake those times Oswald had held his hand?!  
Flustered, Oswald reached beneath his head and smacked Ed with the pillow, startling him awake.  
**

Later on deck, Ed held up the chart and pointed out an island.

‘I’ve checked the charts and the island of Pena Dura is perfect for a resupply’.

Oswald nodded. He and Ed had already discussed the slight course alteration over breakfast but now it was time to put the suggestion to the crew. Right on cue, Butch Gilzean, the first mate objected.

‘Captain, that’s a plague island’, Butch said to a chorus of affirmative mutterings from the rest of the deck crew, 'And a prison!'

‘Maybe fifty years ago but it’s abandoned now’, Ed said, rolling up the chart.

‘By the living’, Butch said ominously.

‘The point is no people, no plague and there should be plenty of fresh fruit and water for us’, Oswald said with finality before turning his attention to Ed, ‘Well done Mr Nygma. Helmsman, plot a course’.

Ed beamed at the warm words. Oswald considered the praise well deserved. Ed had made himself useful on board by reorganising their stores and had discovered the ship was dangerously low on fruit thanks to a bushel of apples going bad. Oswald was keen to avoid scurvy in the crew and Ed had been ready with a proposed destination for a resupply.

‘But Captain-!’

‘Is there a problem Mr Gilzean?’ Oswald asked with icy politeness.

‘You’re really going to listen to this string bean over us?’

Ed looked around. The crew were watching the confrontation intently. Like sharks watching a sinking ship. Oswald seemed nonplussed to the point of staring each crewman down until their eyes dropped like a row of dominoes.

‘Unless any of you have a better idea then, yes’, he said bluntly.  
He gestured to Ed to follow him but halted when he heard Butch mutter to himself.

‘What was that?’ he asked.

‘I said, “You’re treatin’ him like he’s worth ten of us”’, Butch said defiantly.

‘That’s because he is, you dolt’, Oswald retorted, 'You know who his father is'.

Ed knew he shouldn’t feel hurt by Oswald’s words. The only reason Oswald had spared his life was because of the money he stood to make from him after all. Not because they were actually friends. They had a business contract, that was all. Ed swallowed hard. What would Oswald do when he found out that Ed was bluffing? That Ed’s father didn’t care about him at all and would probably pay more money for Oswald to feed Ed to the sharks so he would never have to deal with such an embarrassment of a son ever again? 

‘We all know the real reason you’re listenin’ to him’, Butch growled, ‘It’s because he’s sleeping with-‘

Oswald struck Butch hard across the face with his cane. Butch tumbled down the deck stairs and landed hard on the wood. Oswald descended after him. Butch spat blood onto the deck and looked up at his Captain. Oswald took out a handkerchief and wiped his cane clean.

‘Do you think you can be Captain of this ship Mr Gilzean?’ Oswald asked in a low voice, ‘Think carefully’.

Ed saw Butch’s eyes drop instantly and the way his shoulders slumped as he got to his feet. Butch was much taller than his Captain but his demeanour was so subdued he looked as if he was made of paper. Ed was awestruck. Oswald was much stronger than he looked. Butch wiped his bloody nose and turned to the helmsman.

‘You heard the Captain!’ Butch yelled, ‘Lay a course for Pena Dura!’  
**

Oswald ground his boots into the soft sand of Pena Dura. It was a little tradition he had whenever they made port: taking a moment to contrast the ground beneath his feet with the usual rocking sensation of the ship. Around him, the crew were laughing and joking despite their earlier concerns about travelling to the island. They bustled about gathering supplies and carrying them back to the ship.

Ed was sitting on a cluster of rocks some distance away from them. It seemed he didn’t want to push his luck by attempting to fraternise after the scene on the deck.  
As Oswald approached, he saw Ed was sketching on a pad. To Oswald’s surprise, he saw penguins gambolling in the shallows nearby. He hadn’t realised penguins could be found in warm climates.  
Ed was so engrossed in his drawing that he didn’t notice Oswald which gave the Captain plenty of time to see that beside the avian penguins on the paper, Ed was actually in the process of sketching him. It was his face in profile, eyes closed and mouth half open as if in a deep sleep. Oswald noted the sketch were much more flattering than his wanted posters. Especially the nose.  
He cleared his throat and Ed hastily flicked the page. Oswald thought it was oddly adorable how self conscious Ed looked as he turned to greet him.

‘Is the crew still grumbling?’ he asked.

‘Sailors always grumble’, Oswald replied.

‘You’re okay with that?’ Ed asked, recalling how any sign of dissension in the navy would have earned the complainer a flogging.  
Butch had been practically let off with nothing but a love tap compared to that treatment; an small example to the crew that was easily shaken off.

‘This isn’t the navy’, Oswald said, seemingly reading Ed’s mind, ‘Piracy is a democracy and grumbling is part of democracy’.

‘I hope I didn’t cause you any trouble this morning’.

‘Nothing I can’t handle and nothing a little shore leave won’t fix’.

‘It’s nice to get off the ship for a bit’, Ed said.

‘Clear the cobwebs eh?’ Oswald asked, remembering how Ed sometimes whimpered in his sleep, ‘Speaking of which, have you always had nightmares?’

‘I don’t remember’, Ed said quickly, closing his sketchbook, ‘Come with me, I want to show you something’.

Oswald ignored Ed’s avoidance of the question and followed him towards a cluster of trees. Barrels full of the trees’ fruit were arranged around the trunks, ready to be transported back on board.

‘Oranges’, Oswald identified, picking one and sniffing it.

‘Not quite’, Ed said, ‘Look’.

He peeled the orange and opened it. The inside was a deep, blood red instead of the light orange segments Oswald had expected. Ed offered Oswald half of the segments and Oswald began to eat them, moaning appreciatively as the sweetness hit the back of his throat.  
Ed watched Oswald eat and lick his fingers with gusto. Such messy manners would never have been tolerated in Ed’s social circles. Nor would such obvious enjoyment. Watching Oswald lick his lips and suck the juice from the fruit was scandalous. Ed watched a single drop trace down Oswald’s neck and found himself enraptured by the spectacle, wishing he could have such flagrant disregard for society’s rules. Oswald’s casual and unwitting act of rebellion was stirring something deep inside Ed. A longing he had never felt before. Mirroring Oswald, he began to suck at the fruit too, the obscene slurping noises making him giddy when they brought no rebuke. He licked his own stained lips as swallowed the last soft pieces of the fruit. The sensation was intoxicating and Ed chased it like an addict, reaching up for another orange.  
Only to have his sleeve slip back, exposing his forearm.

Ed yanked his hand back and hastily buttoned his cuff but it was too late. He could tell from Oswald’s eyes. He had seen the scars. Ed braced himself as the fruit seemed to stir unpleasantly in his stomach. But Oswald said nothing, just looked thoughtful. This made Ed feel even worse. He wondered what conclusions Oswald was drawing about him. Did he think he was mad or weak? Ed felt a flash of anger. Nobody had any right to judge him and no matter what they thought of him he had already thought the same thing a hundred times. No matter what Oswald was going to say it couldn’t hurt him but the non sequitur that came next utterly perplexed him.

‘Come with me’, Oswald said gently, ‘I’m going to teach you how to shoot’.  
**

They walked to where a gnarled, bent tree curved over the beach and Oswald unholstered one of his pistols. He checked it was loaded and handed it to Ed. Ed reverently took it in both hands, admiring the feathered engravings of the well maintained gun.

‘If you need to use a pistol on the seas, it’s unlikely to be as part of a gentleman’s duel where you count to ten and spin’.

He moved behind Ed and Ed raised the pistol, barrel pointed at the old tree.

‘No second chances’, Oswald continued, ‘No mercy’.

‘No pressure then?’ Ed joked, sweat trailing down his neck.

He nearly jumped when Oswald took hold of his arms.

‘Relax’, Oswald said, raising Ed’s arms, ‘You need to adjust your stance’.

Ed had never been touched so gently by a man before. In fact, he had never been touched so gently, period. He found it strange how easy Oswald found tactile contact. To Ed, the protocol of physical contact it had always been a minefield. Just another obstacle course he was condemned to fail. He tightened his grip on the pistol, resolving not to fail this test. Oswald kicked Ed’s leg lightly, wordlessly instructing him to widen his stance and stood behind him, using his hands to square Ed’s shoulders.

‘No rush’, he said, drawing close to look at the target over Ed’s shoulder, ‘Just breathe’.

Oswald’s words tickled the hairs on the back of Ed’s neck and he braced himself as his knees quivered. What was wrong with him? He felt light headed and strange. For a second he wondered if maybe his theory about the plague had been incorrect but then a more mundane hypothesis presented itself. Some of the flowers he had been examining earlier had been aphrodisiacs. He made a mental note to be more careful about touching them with his bare hands but his train of thought was then completely derailed by Oswald’s hands steadying them. He could feel Oswald’s chest move, flush as it was with his back and he mimicked the rate of Oswald’s breath. They inhaled and exhaled in unison and for a moment, Ed could have sworn their heartbeats were aligning too. 

‘And squeeze’.

Ed gave an involuntary gasp as Oswald’s whispered instruction caressed his ear and pulled the trigger. Splinters burst from the tree and Ed laughed at his success.

‘Well done’, Oswald smiled, lowering himself slowly onto a tree stump, ‘Now just do it again multiple times in ship to ship combat and you’ll be an expert in no time’.

Ed settled in the sand beside Oswald. Oswald took his pistol back and holstered it back in his bandoleer.

‘So, what happened?’ Oswald asked, looking pointedly at Ed’s arms.

Ed didn’t answer. His fingers curled into fists, sand squishing between his clenched fingers.

‘It’s alright’, Oswald said, ‘You don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to’.

Oswald’s sympathy pierced Ed like a knife. He remembered how, earlier that morning, Oswald had described his monetary worth and reflected bitterly on how the kind words and consideration were likely a ploy. Just a tactic to win his father’s favour. It was the only reason anybody had paid attention to him in the past. Why should things be different now?

‘Despite what pirates seem to think, money doesn’t guarantee happiness’, Ed said.

‘I think I’m beginning to understand’, Oswald said thoughtfully.

They sat in silence for a few moments then Oswald spoke again.

‘When I was young, we didn’t have much but thanks to my mother, the house always smelt of flowers. We would collect seashells, clean them then place them on the fireplace or hang them up as wind chimes. When we sat in front of the fire in our little house on stormy nights with the wind howling outside, the light would catch on the shells and make them shine. Despite how poor we were, it showed me beauty could be found anywhere’.

Ed blinked hard, feeling moisture building in his eyes.  
He had always been surrounded by beauty. Massive, empty, marble ballrooms, dark ornate fireplaces and fine silks that were cold to the touch. Stoic traditions binding and suffocating him, forcing him to aspire to centuries old pretentious perfection. It felt like drowning in a glass box: every move analysed and judged mercilessly. Any pieces that society disapproved of were chiselled away or worn down bit by bit like the sea rubbing against the coastline.  
Ed shivered at the memories and looked out to sea.

It was amazing how different it felt here.  
Sunlight shone through the trees casting the cool shadows they were sheltering under. A gentle breeze ruffled his hair, carrying the perfumed scent of the orchard and mingled with the salty tang of the ocean. Ed breathed deeply, clearing his head save for the sound of the waves. But he couldn’t ignore the comforting presence of Oswald beside him.

He glanced to the side and saw Oswald’s eyes were closed. His expression was tranquil and he had loosened his shirt. Ed was startled when Oswald spoke.

‘Go ahead, you can look’, Oswald said without opening his eyes, ‘Though something tells me you’ve already had a peek’.

Ed reached out with trembling fingers and pulled Oswald’s shirt back slightly. He had indeed caught glimpses of Oswald’s chest while in bed but had never seen them fully exposed. 

‘So many’, he said, marvelling at the array of pink slices, reddish burn marks and purple indentations on Oswald’s pale skin.  
‘I think of them as medals’, Oswald said, opening his eyes as he stretched.  
Oswald suddenly cried out as his leg spasmed. Grabbing his knee and squeezing, he plastered a nonchalant expression on his face even as he tried to subtly rotate his ankle.

‘Maybe I should gather some herbs’, Ed offered, pointing towards a ruined church near the cliff face, ‘There’re plenty over there’.

‘I told you my leg is fine!’ Oswald said, only managing to raise his behind a few centimetres off the ground before his leg gave out.

‘I know! I know’, Ed said diplomatically, ‘I mean maybe I should get some herbs for your bath tonight. They would smell wonderful’.

‘Tempting’, Oswald conceded.

He appreciated Ed’s discretion. His leg had been bothering him more than usual despite the warm temperature. It usually meant trouble on the horizon. A warm bath in the near future would go a long way towards easing his mind.

Unknown to Oswald, Ed had noticed Oswald’s discomfort. Unlike Oswald, Ed was more determined to do something about it. He didn’t like to leave a problem unsolved.

‘This one brings good luck’, Ed said, holding up a sprig of purple flowers. 

‘In that case, sold’, Oswald said, after an experimental sniff of the herb.

‘Are all pirates so superstitious?’ Ed asked.

‘We just don’t like to take any chances’, Oswald shrugged. 

‘Well…thank you for taking a chance on me’, Ed smiled.

Oswald took Ed’s hand and rose to his feet, carefully checking his weight on each. He led the way back towards the ship, Ed following close beside him. Oswald was surprised how okay he was with it.  
Usually if someone got that close to him, they were in a perfect position to stick a knife in his back. Ed wasn’t like anybody else. Just like him.  
Oswald knew he shouldn’t get used to the company. Ed had to be returned to his father as per their arrangement.  
But if he could fool his crew into thinking Ed was just an investment to him, he could also fool himself that he had a real friend for a while longer.


	3. Mutiny

Ed checked the temperature of the water and nodded in satisfaction. Oswald’s bath was ready. He inhaled deeply, savouring the spicy scent of the herbs he had mixed in and watched the steam spiral into strange shapes as he breathed out. Up on the deck he could hear the crew playing music and laughing amongst themselves. The tension from earlier had disappeared after experiencing the tranquillity of the island. Ed glanced out the window where, the island’s silhouette was illuminated by the pale moon. Despite the calm scene, the wind was picking up and Ed thought it looked like rain.  
He replayed the events of the day in his head, trying to maximise every small detail of what he had felt on the island. The wind on his face, the sound of the waves, the tang of the oranges, the sight of the juice trickling down Oswald’s neck, the way his lips had glistened when he had licked them clean, the gentleness of his arms as he had enfolded Ed, spreading his legs-

Ed shook his head.  
He could have sworn he had removed all the herbal aphrodisiacs he had accidentally gathered on the island!  
What didn’t help was a very naked Captain climbing into the tub behind him.  
It was only when Ed heard Oswald settle and was certain that the Captain’s private parts were safely covered by the cloudy water that he turned.  
Oswald raised his damaged leg and gingerly draped it over the side of the tub. Ed sat on a stool beside the tub and helped Oswald rest the limb on his lap, sponge at the ready.  
Oswald’s pale flesh was flushed pink due to the heat, his veins vivid as blue lightning which only made the contrast of the damaged tissue more striking. It was like a storm brewing. Tenebrous shadows clashed with red streaks, lilac and lavender bruising lit with brushes of shocking white like a mad painter transcribing pain on an increasingly swollen, kaleidoscopic canvas.

Ed fascinated by the vibrant colours, stroked Oswald’s knee gently.  
Hearing a gentle yet pointed cough from Oswald, his head snapped up.  
Oswald was staring at him with an odd intensity. As if he was weighing him up. Conscious that he had likely made a bad mistake by ignoring Oswald’s boundaries, Ed retracted his fingers as if he had been bitten. A flash of something like disappointment flashed across Oswald’s face but Ed couldn’t be sure.  
Unsure of what to say, Ed began doing what he should have been doing all along; he began to sponge Oswald’s injuries and was rewarded with a shaky sigh of relief from the Captain as the warm water began to do its work. Ed conscientiously tended to Oswald’s leg as the Captain splashed water into his face and scrubbed at his arms. Despite his best efforts, Ed’s eyes kept darting towards the Captain. Oswald’s hair was limp, his carefully cultivated crest had wilted when exposed to the humidity and his eyes were closed. His expression was peaceful, his arms laying languidly on the sides of the tub, his chest rising and falling slowly, his neck exposed and creamy as his head lolled back, lips slightly parted with the hint of sharp white teeth within-

Ed swallowed hard, cursing his vivid imagination as he refocused his attention on Oswald’s knee, a thankfully much less erotic body part.

‘My old Captain did it’.

Ed’s head swivelled and he saw Oswald had one eye open. Ed felt like a trespassing mouse caught by a cat’s lazily watchful eye.

‘What? Oh!’ Ed babbled, realising Oswald had drawn his own conclusions about why Ed had been staring so intensely at his knee, ‘I didn’t ask!’

‘But you want to know’, Oswald said, a single eyebrow rising teasingly.

Grateful that Oswald was amused rather than irritated and, genuinely curious about Oswald’s past, Ed nodded.

‘My Captain, Fish Mooney-yes, that Fish Mooney-’ Oswald said, rolling his eyes at Ed’s surprised gasp, ‘-decided we would attack a fleet of ships owned by the privateer, Captain Falcone. I knew we were outgunned but she didn’t listen to me. Why should she? I was nobody. Just a cabin boy who held the umbrella to keep the sun off her when she strutted on the deck. I informed the navy of her plans. They took offence to her ambitions and intercepted our ship. She knew immediately who had betrayed her. She broke my leg and dumped me overboard. I remember the smoke and the salt in my eyes, the roar of the cannons and the agony as I swam for my life, my useless leg dragging me down’.

Oswald paused for dramatic effect, lip corner twitching as he saw Ed’s widened eyes and open jaw. The sponge, laden with water and forgotten was sitting in Ed’s lap, dampening his trousers.

‘How did you survive?’ Ed asked, naked wonder in his voice.

‘Penguins are good swimmers’, Oswald said, deliberately shrugging off handedly, ‘I tread water until the battle ended and was eventually rescued by the victorious ship helmed by Captain James Gordon of the navy. They gave me Fish’s ship, this ship, as thanks for my assistance’.

‘What about the survivors of Fish’s crew?’

Oswald’s smirk sent shivers down his spine. Not unpleasant shivers.

‘I offered them a quick vote’, Oswald continued, ‘They could follow me or they could follow Fish to Davy Jones’ locker’. Oswald chuckled darkly. ‘Sadly, she didn’t swim as well as her name suggested and pirates can be surprisingly democratic. Especially with a few naval cannons pointing right at them’.

‘If you were working with the navy already then why not become a privateer? Rob other ships legally’.

Oswald’s chin tilted haughtily, his green eyes reflecting the golden lamplight.

‘I’m my own master’, Oswald pronounced, ‘Not the king’s lapdog’.

His eyes narrowed and he concluded with a sibilant hiss.

‘And nobody’s umbrella boy’.

Ed adjusted his collar as sweat trickled down his cheek. Oswald noticed Ed’s discomfort and the threatening aura immediately vanished as his brow furrowed in concern.

‘It’s warm in here’, Oswald said, ‘You should remove a layer or two’.

Ed bit down on the refusal brewing on his tongue. Oswald had opened up to him by sharing his story. Ed owed him the same show of trust. Ed pulled off his shirt and straightened up, waiting for Oswald’s inevitable, disgusted reaction. 

Ed crossed his arms self-consciously, eyes lowered despite his stiff back and Oswald felt a pang of sympathy which was quickly swallowed by anger as he looked at the multitude of scars on Ed’s flesh. Pink shiny burns, pale criss crosses on Ed’s arms and reddened memories of a lash. The nightmares, the negative way Ed spoke about high society, the obvious suppression of a reflexive flinch any time Oswald mentioned his father. Yes. It was all coming together now.  
To reassure Ed, Oswald reached out and touched his shoulder. When Ed did not move away, he gave it a reassuring squeeze.

‘I just want you to know’, Oswald said, ‘I’ve enjoyed your company. I’m going to miss our talks when we part ways’.

He felt Ed’s shoulder tremble beneath his fingers.

‘When will that be?’ Ed asked quietly.

Oswald was seized with the sudden urge to embrace Ed. He sounded so vulnerable. So alone. Sad. Like he was sad he would be leaving Oswald. But that was impossible. There was no way in Hell Ed actually cared about Oswald. He was probably just dreading returning to his father. Oswald made a mental note to have a ‘chat’ with the man when he encountered him about how he should treat his son. After he handed over the reward of course.

‘We should reach port in about a week’s time’, he replied gently.

He made to withdraw his hand but Ed grabbed it. Oswald froze, looking at Ed searchingly as Ed began to kiss his damp knuckles, eyes half hooded as he looked up at him. Oswald gasped as warmth flooded his system and his heart began to race. Ed continued to kiss his hand, working his way round to his wrist and sucking on the veins. Oswald’s toes curled and he squirmed as Ed’s ministrations made him shudder.  
The sound of water lapping drew his attention and he realised Ed’s other hand was submerged and slowly working its way up his thigh.  
Wordlessly, Oswald opened his legs without hesitation and their eyes met.

‘Should I stop?’ Ed asked, pupils blown wide.

Oswald could see the longing in Ed’s eyes. The hunger. The hope.  
The innocence.  
Oswald’s jaw tightened.  
He couldn’t do this. No matter how badly he wanted to.  
It took everything he had to shake his head.

‘We shouldn’t’, he said.

‘Why not?’ Ed said tightly, ‘It’s just us’.

Oswald continued shaking his head, trying desperately to ignore the increasingly pleading tone of Ed’s voice.

‘Nobody will know’, he whispered, ‘Our secret’.

‘It’s not you. It’s me. I can’t…drag you down with me. You can’t want-‘

Ed placed a hand on Oswald’s lips and he stopped talking. Ed’s eyes were dangerously watery. Ed’s fingers drifted and Oswald inhaled shakily as he felt Ed take hold of his face with both hands.

‘But I do want’, Ed said through gritted teeth, ‘Please. Before it’s over, for once in my life, I want to feel…’

Ed trailed off, eyes distant. Oswald noted Ed’s half parted lips, his heavy breathing, his pink cheeks beneath his shining dark eyes, the smoothness of his hands as they held him gently, how lost he seemed…

‘Ed’, he began but the sound of an explosion shattered the atmosphere.

Oswald, his reflexes honed by years of being under fire immediately leapt from the bath, spinning on his good leg to avoid putting undue weight on the bad. He hopped to the window and unleashed a litany of curse words as there was a high, wild cackle from somewhere above his head.

‘Shit!’ Oswald growled, yanking on his trousers and boots, ‘It’s The Tigress!’

Despite the heat, Ed suddenly felt ice cold. He had heard of that ship as well as its fearsome dual Captains: Barbara Kean and Tabitha Galavan. His dread was enhanced by Oswald’s frantic search for his clothes. Ed began to rebutton his shirt as he tried to make things out beyond the steamed window pane.

‘I thought women were bad luck on a ship’, he said numbly, the adrenaline beginning to take hold.

‘Would you call this good luck?!’ Oswald countered, tossing Ed a pistol.

Ed just about caught it. He stared at, his brain hastily retracing the lessons Oswald had given him earlier that day. Oswald took position at the door. Ed, his mind awhirl, was confronted with the absurd worry that Oswald wasn’t wearing shoes. He wondered if this was what panic felt like as Oswald flung open the door. The deck was strangely quiet. Ed wondered if the battle could be over already? If Oswald was thinking the same thing, he seemed determined to contradict anyone else thinking such a thing were true.

‘Stay close to me’, Oswald commanded, flinging the door open.

***

‘Sorry Captain’, Butch said, his words at odds with the smug look on his face, ‘But you know what happens when you go soft’.

‘If you’re so sure I’ve gone soft then why not come take me on yourself?’ Oswald grinned fiercely.

Oswald swung his sword and despite the mutinous crew’s laughter, nobody stepped forward. Save for two women. Captains Barbara Kean and Tabitha Galavan, the legendary Sirens.

‘Because they don't have to’, Tabitha said, unimpressed by Oswald’s posturing.

‘And I don’t feel like chipping a nail’, Barbara added, ‘Who’s the beanpole Butch?’

Ed raised his pistol warningly even as he rationalised it would do no good. The crew had he and Oswald surrounded and trapped against the guardrail. 

‘Admiral Nashton’s son’, Butch replied, ‘Or so he says. Condition; slightly used, right Captain?’

Oswald scowled defiantly and Butch continued.

‘Doubt it’ll hurt the value though if you wanna return him’.

‘A girl could always use some pocket change’, Barbara grinned, flicking her hair, ‘We’ll wrap him up with a ribbon for his daddy after we keelhaul Ozzie here’.

Ed lowered his pistol immediately.

‘I’ll come with you!’ he said, ‘Just let the Captain go’.

‘Why should we?’ Tabitha asked, amused. 

‘Because he’s taught me pirates can be honourable people’, Ed said.

The crew looked at each other and for a moment, Ed thought his strategy had worked but then Barbara gave a long, catlike yawn.

‘And look where that’s got him. Tabby?’

‘Catch!’ Tabitha smirked and threw a grenade with contemptuous ease.

It landed at Ed’s feet. The crew scattered, desperate to put distance between them and the impending explosion. Ed didn’t move. He couldn’t remember how. All he could focus on was the shortening fuse. The smell of the smoke. The flash. The flash!  
The sudden pain of impact.  
A scream.  
Oswald’s scream.  
Ed blinked, snapping out of his daze.  
Oswald had shoved him out of the way of the grenade.  
Oswald was still screaming. A terrible, high pitched sound like a maddened bird of prey’s cry. Blood dribbled between his white knuckles as he held his hand, crimson staining his teeth as it flowed down his face.  
Ed grabbed him, trying frantically to figure out what to do.

In the background, the crew stumbled about in the smoke and Ed could hear Barbara yelling at Tabitha.

‘I meant grab him with your whip or something! You nearly exploded our meal ticket!’

‘Nearly’, Tabitha emphasised coolly.

A sudden crash of thunder halted the argument. Barbara and Tabitha looked up as lightning flashed across the dark clouds. As they returned their attention to the deck and the smoke cleared, they saw that Oswald and their ‘meal ticket’ were gone.

*** 

Ed layered another piece of wood onto the fire and pulled the blanket tighter around himself.  
He sat down and watched the rain fall outside the ruined church. Despite the occasional hole, the roof was sound and Ed had managed to scavenge enough wood and materials to build a makeshift camp. Nearby, Oswald lay on a pile of sacks, a musty blanket covering him. Ed’s eyes prickled as he saw the drying, green poultice he had applied to Oswald’s right eye. 

He had been unconscious since they had fled the ship.  
Ed had thrown them both over the rail when the storm had broken, using the sound of the thunder to obscure their escape. Landing in an undignified heap in a lifeboat, Ed had struggled up and taken out the pistol Oswald had given him. Raising it, he had fired at the pulley securing the vessel. Oswald’s lessons had done their job and the lifeboat plummeted down into the ocean. Ed had grabbed the oars and begun to row, knowing any moment that he would feel the fatal sting of a pistol shot or the lifeboat would be obliterated by a well aimed cannonball.  
But nothing had happened.  
Miraculously, Ed had rowed them back to Pena Dura and had collapsed, exhausted, onto the beach just in time to see The Penguin sailing away under the thrall of The Tigress. Evidently their prize was more important to them than chasing two defeated enemies in the dark. Or maybe it amused them more to think about Ed and Oswald fighting over scraps as they starved to death on the island. Ed didn’t care why they'd left.  
The only positive side of the whole sorry situation was that Oswald hadn’t seen it.

Ed’s fist tightened, sand crunching between his knuckles.  
Thanks to Ed’s cowardice, he might never see anything again!  
As if on cue, Oswald groaned and began to stir.

‘Don’t move!’ Ed cried, running to Oswald’s side.

Oswald sat up despite Ed’s warnings. Ed took hold of Oswald’s shoulders, steadying him.

‘Wh-what happened?’ Oswald mumbled, lip curling at the slimy texture as he touched the poultice gingerly.

‘Don’t touch it! It’s medicine. I think I got all the shrapnel. Your eye’s swollen but at least it’s clean now’. 

‘It doesn’t hurt’, Oswald said, obviously concerned if the lack of feeling was a good or bad thing.

‘The herbs on this island are really incredible’, Ed said, looking at the sack nearby filled with plants, ‘The poultice and the tea I’m brewing should numb the pain until morning at least. I’ll have to change the dressing’.

Oswald picked up a mirror Ed had scavenged and examined his face. Ed had coated nearly all of the right side of his face. He glanced at Ed. His mouth was a thin line and his eyes were staring into the fire. His hands were closing and opening repetitively. 

‘How did it look?’ Oswald said, careful to keep his tone light.

‘It looked…’ Ed swallowed hard as the memory surfaced, ‘Fine’.

Oswald laughed, making Ed jump. His eyes widened as Oswald got to his feet and stretched languidly.

‘I suppose eyepatches are an acceptable aesthetic of my profession if worst comes to worst’, Oswald shrugged, pacing thoughtfully, ‘Maybe I should complete the look with a parrot’.

Ed realised Oswald was trying to make him feel better. And it broke his iron tight hold on his composure. 

‘I’m so sorry Oswald! I saw the grenade and I-I just froze and-‘

‘Don’t apologise’, Oswald said, examining nearby barrels, ‘It was the least I could do’.

‘But, I’m not worth-‘

‘Does your father tell you that?’ Oswald interrupted, ‘Ah! Here we are. My own cure for pain’.

He held up a green bottle and popped the cork out with his teeth. He sniffed it, took a long, luxurious series of gulps and smacked his lips. He settled down beside Ed and offered him the bottle. Ed sipped it experimentally and coughed. Shamed by Oswald’s understanding, Ed felt fresh tears beginning to build in his eyes that he futilely tried to justify as a side effect of the coughing fit.

‘You don’t understand’, Ed said, hugging the bottle like a child holding a beloved toy, ‘I do owe you an apology. I lied’.

‘About?’

‘You saved my life for nothing’, Ed admitted, voice catching, ‘Because there won’t be a ransom’.

Ed’s admission became a torrent, the emotions he had carefully bottled up finally breaking loose.

‘My father doesn’t give a damn about me. He sent me to sea to get rid of me. Sometimes when I’m feeling charitable, I think he was hoping the navy would toughen me up into the man he always wanted. I would come home, marry a young uninteresting wife then spend my time rotting away in the dark corners of a massive manor while she produced the next generation of his legacy. But deep down I know the truth. The sea was supposed to kill me. I was supposed to die out here quietly without a fuss and they wouldn’t even have disturbed my father with the sad news because I wasn’t allowed to sign up under my own family name’.

Ed gave a choked laugh.

‘Looks like I’ve disappointed him twice over. But it doesn’t hurt half as much as disappointing you’.

‘Is being a pirate better?’ Oswald mused, ‘Hunted all your life, always worried about being stabbed in the back, your crew losing confidence and mutinying, dying alone on some godforsaken shore shooting each other over the last drop of water-‘

‘I’d rather die free than live in their cage’, Ed declared, ‘Oswald, these last few days have been the most alive I have ever felt’.

‘I thought you would’ve felt closer to death’ Oswald joked, taken aback by ed’s philosophising. 

‘I’m looking at it right now’, Ed said resignedly, ‘You’re going to kill me, aren’t you? For lying to you?’

‘Hypocritical for a pirate to resent anybody for not telling the truth’, Oswald replied.

‘But, your eye…you saved my life for nothing’.

‘I didn’t save your life because of the money it was worth’. 

‘I don’t understand’.

Oswald placed a hand over Ed’s.

‘It would have been a shame to see such a remarkable brain spattered all over the deck’, he said, ‘Excellent shot by the way. You’re a fast learner’.

Ed, surprised Oswald had maintained enough presence of mind to notice, shook his head, confused.

‘Why are you being so kind?’'

‘Because you just saved my life. Or did you miss that little detail?’

‘I was just running away. Like the coward I am’.

‘That’s your father talking again and I’m already sick and tired of what he has to say’, Oswald said coldly.

Ed said nothing.

‘When we get off this island, get as far away from him as possible’, Oswald continued, ‘Please’.

‘I don’t have anywhere else to go’.

‘Where do you want to go?’

‘I want to stay with you. Be part of your crew. Or at least keep an eye on that wound. No pun intended!’

Oswald chuckled and Ed felt his skin flush all the way to his ears as Oswald leant in conspiratorially.

‘If I had you, I wouldn’t need a crew’, Oswald whispered, ‘Are you cold?’

‘I think it’s the rum’, Ed said, wiping his forehead, ‘It’s strange. I feel so warm’.

‘Come closer to the fire. We got soaked getting here’.

Ed obeyed and they were silent for a while as the rain outside continued to hammer down. The flames of the fire cast shadows against the peeling paint of the church walls and occasionally a solitary, laden drip fell onto one of the pews.  
Both men felt as if they were the only two people in the world and were both shocked at how little that bothered them.  
Lightning flashed, bathing the church interior in white. Ed glanced at Oswald out of the corner of his eye, only to catch Oswald doing exactly the same thing. They chuckled, embarrassed at being caught staring.

‘You said “when” we get off the island’, Ed said, ‘But I’m not sure the lifeboat can carry many supplies’.

Oswald jerked a thumb at the barrels.

‘These barrels aren’t dusty like everything else and they’re stamped with a seal’, he explained, ‘Which makes it a smuggler’s cache. We can barter passage off when they return’.

‘With what?’

‘The ransom story worked on me didn’t it?’

‘We’re stuck until then?’

‘There are worse places to be stuck. And far worse company to have. Your cheeks are red. I suppose that’s the rum too?’’

‘I don’t drink it very often. But, no, I don’t think so Captain’.

‘On the ship, what were you going to say? You “want to feel…”?’

Ed rotated the rum bottle, listening to the liquid sloshing within. It was an adequate reflection of what his stomach was doing. Ed knew his queasiness was nothing to do with the rum.

‘I want to feel wanted’, he said, preparing to take another sip.

Oswald took the bottle from him and placed it to one side. He stroked Ed’s cheek with a fingertip, his other fingers gently raking his hair. Ed leant into Oswald’s palm automatically, savouring his touch.

‘Just to be clear, you know we’re not on the ship anymore?’ Oswald said, using his other hand to unbutton Ed’s collar, ‘You know our deal’s off?’

‘Who said anything about the deal?’ Ed said, hand resting on Oswald’s knee, ‘I’m free now. Free to go where I want’.

He leant forwards, resting his head against Oswald’s before lowering his lips to his neck.

‘Live how I want’, Ed said, punctuating each sentence with a kiss, ‘Free to do what I like’.

Oswald lowered himself back playfully, causing Ed to overbalance with a cry of delighted surprise. He found himself on top of Oswald, their bodies flush. Oswald was gazing up at him, his exposed eye shining like green glass as he dared him to go further.  
‘And free to take what you want’, Oswald said, ripping his shirt open with a single hand.

Ed felt his loins stir at the show of strength and thrilled to feel Oswald reciprocate beneath him. Ed coquettishly rotated his hips, lowering himself so he was properly straddling Oswald. He began to undo Oswald’s belt with lean, clever fingers. 

Oswald watched him hungrily, aroused by the ironically heretical implications of making love in a church.

‘Only with my Captain’s permission’, Ed smirked, ‘Can I?’

Lightning flashed again and Oswald lost himself in the darkness of Ed's eyes.

‘Yes’, Oswald breathed, raising his hips invitingly, ‘Yes you can’.


End file.
